“Yes, dear little man,” replied Mastor, “and their eyes are wonderfully bright, and all they look upon is beautiful.”

“Tell them no more Christian nonsense,” begged Arsinoe.  “Ah! children, when we shall have burned our father’s body there will be nothing left of him but a few grey ashes.”

But the slave took the little blind boy on his knees and whispered to him: 

“Only believe what I tell you—­you will see him again in Heaven.”

Then he set him down again, gave Arsinoe a little bag of gold pieces in Caesar’s name, and begged her—­for so his master desired—­to find a new abode and, after the deceased was burned on the morrow, to quit Lochias with the children.  When Mastor was gone Arsinoe opened the chest, in which lay her father’s papyri and the money that Plutarch had paid for the ivory cup, put in the heavy purse sent by the Emperor, comforting herself while her tears flowed, with the reflection that she and the children were provided at any rate against immediate want.

But where was she to go with the little ones?  Where could she hope to find a refuge at once?  What was to become of them when all they now possessed was spent.  The gods be thanked! she was not forlorn; she still had friends.  She could find protection and love with Pollux and look to dame Doris for motherly counsel.

She quickly dried her eyes and changed the remains of her splendor for the dark dress in which she was accustomed to work at the papyrus factory; then, as soon as she had taken the pearls out of her hair, she went down to the little gate-house.

She was only a few steps from the door—­but why did not the Graces come springing out to meet her?  Why did she see no birds, no flowers in the window?  Was she deceived, was she dreaming or was she tricked by some evil spirit?  The door of the dear home-like little dwelling was wide open and the sitting-room was absolutely empty, not a chattel was left behind, forgotten—­not a leaf from a plant was lying on the ground; for dame Doris, in her tidy fashion, had swept out the few rooms where she had grown grey in peace and contentment as carefully as though she were to come into them again to-morrow.

What had happened here?  Where were her friends gone?  A great terror came over her, all the misery of desolation fell upon her, and as she sank upon the stone bench outside the gate-house to wait for the inhabitants who must presently return, the tears again flowed from her eyes and fell in heavy drops on her hands as they lay in her lap.